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There was the awareness that he might have simply as well remained with the Ingalls, to see how it all worked out. He had had his fill and it was time to move on, maybe mosey down to St. Louis, New Orleans, or Arizona. Highly he felt that getting back house in 2000 was a no-go. It wasn't going to occur. He knew his location fairly well, the geography of 2000, the location of 1875 he was a little fuzzy on. And beings that it WAS 1875, Old West, it was a good idea to be cautious and wary and on guard-- Indians were still mighty uncertain and outlaws roamed the wildlands, too.

A mountain path took him up into some rough country, he spent a week just meandering around, discovering a few roaming livestock he assisted himself to some fresh steak. It was a little gross and he determined that in the future he would just order one from a dining establishment. Fishing was much better and he nailed one deer. Living in the rough was alright, he did miss the Ingalls' hospitality, Walnut Grove as a entire. When the first snows began to fall his thoughts rested solely on the Ingalls. A great warm fire, a bed, hot soup, cornbread, fresh milk. His own grub was getting sporadic, the weather switching on him the higher he went, however he wished to get up and over the mountain ridge and down into brand-new area he assumed would be among the Dakotas, or perhaps Iowa, maybe even Nebraska, he wasn't sure. Soon the days got as cold as the nights. His horse was not approving of the weather condition modification or the insistence of continuing the futile experience. August had to agree-- he was getting nowhere fast. The mountain course appeared to wind on and on and on forever. He struck off on another course that apparently led downward. Now he was completely lost. Another week went by, he contravened of a one pissed off territorial badger, chased for miles by an even pissed off bear. He fell against a rock and bruised some ribs, clunked his head and understood that he had a concussion.

Come the start of his 3rd week out from Walnut Grove his horse he had come to call Tonto started going crazy. Raising up some and acting extremely wacky. August was not entertained and ended up being really cautious. He wished his internal Device had some sort of capability to see objects he himself could not see, or a minimum of discover them, or something. He was at length able to relax the horse down, August strained to spot and listen for himself what had spooked Tonto. He figured either a snake or Indians. Either one he was not cool with. Both were deadly, vicious, and fatal. He wanted no part of either among them. After backing his horse up a bit and protecting him to a bush August slipped off into the rough, prowling, listening and stopping briefly . In one hand he bared a Colt revolver, the other hand a Bowie knife. He had a Springfield rifle with the horse.

August made a few more stalwart prowlings and lastly came upon a guy. Flies were already swarming and so August presumed that the guy had been dead there for some time. He wasn't going to be alive for very much longer, August had no method of reaching any physician. Compliance was not exactly complied to quickly, the two teens did their best to stall and carry on-- requiring Dakota to once more grab a holt of Adam's young head and wrench him upwards ... then in a flash the lad's wool trousers were down and he was bent over Dakota's knee, the trap door of the long underwear the boy used was ripped down and the barrel of the six-shooter packed into the lad's hole. Nothing was stated. Absolutely nothing needed saying, Mark went to his knees, parted his cousin's cunny lips and proceeded in noshing. Dakota worked the barrel of the weapon deeper into the young kid's rectum, sodomizing him well. His other hand he hung on to the lad's hair, holding it up securely, forcing him to see as cousin Mark mounted Arlene and entered her. STANDING on Mark's back Dakota took his turn and fucking young Arlene. He squeezed her nipples, nipped and bit them, creamed deeply into her pussy and jammed the barrel of the revolver up into her well deflowered fucked cunny, worked it around a bit and after that made her suck on the barrel.

Arlene was ruthlessly wrenched over and spanked hard, Mark needed to come and place himself on the table and insert his cock into her mouth. The experience was amazing. Dakota was August's kind of guy if he weren't so callous. She was more sodomized with Dakota's cock. There was nothing however still silence in the shack, only the crackling fire in the slapping and the fireplace balls against Arlene's ass made the only noise. When done, Dakota wrenched Mark up from the floor and pressed his face into Arlene's tormented ass-- Lick it clean! Dakota sneered. When Mark resisted to the disgusting job of licking Arlene's orgasm packed asshole, Dakota then simply wrench the lad into a new position-- Either you fuckin' lick HER hole tidy-- he jeered and pushed his gangly ultra-funky dick up against the young boy's face-- Or you SUCK my dick!

 

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